


Not a Word

by TerokNor



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: I was born for this, I've done my duty to god, M/M, Someone had to write mirage topping and it wasn't gonna be any of you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 23:53:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17949572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerokNor/pseuds/TerokNor
Summary: Elliott likes to take it slow.





	Not a Word

**Author's Note:**

> Why did I write this, I'm a good Catholic school boy.

Kissing is nice. 

With Elliott, it is slow. Although Bloodhound expected him to be quick, eager, as overly enthusiastic in physical affection as he was in the ring, they are surprised to find that Mirage takes it slow when he's kissing. In fact, he hadn't been the first one to deepen their kisses. He had been quite content to simply press his lips gently against Bloodhound's, lightly kissing the scars that scratch through their lips, tickling their chin as his stubble scratches against their face. It was Bloodhound who'd seized the back of his head in firm, gloved hands and pulled him much closer, mouth opening wider, inviting, begging Elliott to come in. And even then, Elliott takes it slow. His tongue makes slow, sweeping motions across the plains of Bloodhound's mouth, as teasing and flirting as Elliott had been on their first date. 

Which had been under fire, at Water Treatment. 

And had ended with five people dead, and Elliott with a hole in his left thigh. 

"Pretty romantic, I think," Elliott had said. 

Pretty romantic. 

Touching with Elliott can be pretty slow too. 

Elliott only touches carefully, thoughtfully.

Flutters his fingers over their gloved hand. 

A brush of his hand against Bloodhound's shoulder, thanking them for saving his life. 

A little reassuring grab to their knee while they're at dinner. 

And finally, just the slightest ghost of a touch over their ass, after a night of hard drinking. 

After that, Bloodhound hadn't wanted to take it so slow. 

And over time, those light touches had become confident. 

Stronger. 

Less friendly and more...lovingly harsh. 

Bloodhound had blinked affectionately at him from beneath the mask the first time Elliott had wrapped his arm around their waist. They had smiled when he'd rubbed their hip soothingly. 

And had been about ready to pull the mask, and other things, off when his hand had wandered lower, and rather than merely brushing over them, had finally  _squeezed._  

But that all seems so distant now.

Feeling the need to wear the mask around Elliott now. 

They sigh into his mouth.

He pulls away to begin laying kisses down Bloodhound's scarred chin, tracing the white, twisting skin from their chin to their throat. He pauses, nosing gently at their neck, grinning into their cool skin. 

"Have I ever told you your scars are sexy?" Mirage murmurs.

"They're not, but thank you for making the best of them," Bloodhound murmurs back. 

Mirage is shaking his head before they're even finished. 

"Beautiful. Every. Single. One," Mirage says, punctuating each word with a kiss. 

Always such a process with Elliott. Kissing the scars of their cheeks, then the mouth for a while, then going down, from their chin to their throat.

Linger on the throat for a while, nuzzle, smile into their skin as they shiver with anticipation, knowing how ticklish they are. 

Then going down, down, down until they gasp, because Elliott has a teasing tongue, and he knows how to use it, and where. 

But he's a tease, he's only ever teasing with his tongue on nights like this.

On nights when they almost die, he doesn't seem to like going "halfway" or even just a quarter of the way.

On nights when the guns are still blazing in his head, and the shots still ringing, people still screaming, he still takes it slow.

But he goes all the way.

And he takes what he needs. While giving the Hound all that they need, and more.

Bloodhound lets out a gasp almost as though they are in pain. 

Mirage, pushed up against their chest, wedged between their thighs, stills, looking worried. His fingers squeeze Bloodhound's right thigh lightly, causing them to groan, quaking at his touch in such an intimate and sensitive place. 

"Are you ok-?"

"Keep going!" Bloodhound begs him. They need this.

The mask keeps people at a distance. It keeps them back. It keeps Bloodhound safe. 

But on nights like this, they don't feel like being safe. 

Mirage, quirky and sociable, but with a nasty streak in him, with a lust to kill, same as them, same as everyone in the Apex ring, is more than enough danger for them on nights like this. 

He continues, pushing further into Bloodhound's body, moving again, thank the Allfather, but still much too slowly, much too carefully. 

They wonder if he's trying to make them beg sometimes, really, they do. 

If he just enjoys forcing Bloodhound to get on top, straddling his hips, and take in his full length, deciding their own pace, their warm hole clenched tightly around his cock. 

If he is slow deliberately, because all it takes to drive Bloodhound wild is to restrain himself. 

If that's the case, he's more of a sadist than even Bloodhound could have predicted. 

He still fucks into Bloodhound slowly even now, arms bracketing around Bloodhound's chest, eyes staring fondly down at his partner, his face serene as though he isn't the hunter's entire world right now. As if he isn't at the center of his lover's being, prying deeply into him, pushing his way inside as though he belonged there. His face is flushed, his cheeks rosy, his mouth smiling. 

And Bloodhound could kill him. 

They seize his right shoulder with their hand, squeezing it so tightly they may just  leave bruises in the morning. 

"Stop...teasing...me," Bloodhound growls, forehead blanketed with a sheet of sweat, eyes ferocious like a wild animal's, long white hair fanning out on the mattress like a halo. 

Elliott stops altogether, and the hunter groans in frustration.

But Elliott can't help it. 

It isn't his fault Bloodhound is so beautiful. Clever, focused, determined, and so vicious and sexy. 

Their sharp eyes always watching him with an intensity that takes his breath away. 

Lithe, muscular body with powerful legs that grip him tightly, forcing him to stay where he is, or only the Allfather will be able to help him. 

Hard stomach, not an inch of fat anywhere to be seen, yet skin so soft it's almost a complete contradiction. 

And their face. 

A face he's grown to love at all times, when it's reading, when it's sleeping, glaring at him, smiling at him. 

And a face that he loves to see in these deep, personal moments between them. 

Twisted up almost in agony, but really it's a burning feeling so intense that one can understand how thin the line between pain and pleasure truly is. 

Yet, he would see this Bloodhound, so incredibly tender, yet also impossibly wild and rough at the same time, as a contradiction if he didn't know them well enough by now. 

He pushes in much harder, surprising Bloodhound, forcing another gasp out of them, this one almost like a cry for help.

His lover is pushed further up the bed as he fucks harder, and faster, trying to show them. 

Trying to let them know that he takes it slow not because he doesn't want it.

He wants it very much.

Would gladly start off as fast and hard and intense as one of their training fights. 

Would gladly fuck them into the nearest available wall, support their weight and let gravity help push them down onto his hardened member. 

That would be easy. 

No, the reason isn't that he doesn't want it here or there, or that he doesn't want it fast and as often as possible.

The reason isn't even that he wants to tease or drive his partner crazy.

Although he would be lying if he said Bloodhound's pleading face didn't give him some amount of pleasure. A sadistic, smug pleasure that reveled in knowing that he's the only one who gets to see Bloodhound like this. Reduce them to this. 

That's a proud, dominating feeling that those in the ring will never have over Bloodhound.  

Elliott's cock brushes against a spot inside his lover that has them finally shouting out, their toes curling in ecstasy, fingers digging into their shoulders, chest rubbing frantically against his as they buck up against him, back arching almost painfully. 

He attacks that spot instinctively, wanting to hear more of Bloodhound's cries, wanting their insides to squeeze tighter around him, for the marks from their fingernails to cut into his back and never disappear. 

But as he rushes closer to his end, bringing Bloodhound deliriously with him, he has to slow down. 

Just has to. 

Bloodhound lets out a frustrated, almost angry cry like a wounded animal.

"Have...mercy...on me," they gasp. 

"I can't," Elliott whispers into their ear, his hips snapping forward lazily, pushing and pushing him deeper into Bloodhound, but not giving them what they want, not completely. 

Because if he fucked them fast, they'd never know how much he loves this. 

Savors this.

Can't let this feeling go, can't let them go. 

_I can't, because you and I aren't long for this world. We won't be here forever. We may die tomorrow. My entire world is here, with you, and one day it may be gone. You may be gone. I need to be here. With you, under me, above me, beside me. With you now, forever._

_I can't let you go. I'm sorry._

_Even if it means you're suffering, even if you need me to go faster, and you can't stand it anymore, I'll have to torture you as long as I can._

_Just so I know that you know how much torture loving you is for me._

Elliott likes to take it slow. 

He takes their relationship slow.

He takes their kissing slow.

Takes their touching slow.

Takes their love making slow. 

But Bloodhound accepts that about him. 

Just one of his many mysteries. 

Just like the mystery of why, when he finishes, he always runs his hands through Bloodhound's hair. 

Looks them in the eyes, focusing very, very hard, as though trying to memorize every line of  their face. 

But says nothing, not a word. 

**Author's Note:**

> Now that I think of it, fucking missionary is very Catholic. I'll do better next time.


End file.
